Tags

Summary

Napoleon slides over very slowly until he is crouching down next to Illya’s chair. He wants to touch, but he’s afraid to. Always afraid to. He settles for placing a hand on each armrest and even this feels dangerous.

Tags

Summary

“That is a good plan,” Illya admits, as if he can’t quite believe those words just left his mouth directed at that American. He lowers his gun. “I could kiss you, Cowboy.”

And he knows it’s an expression, one he’s not exactly sure how Illya picked up. And he knows the law back home, and what trouble someone like him could get in doing something like this with someone who wasn’t down. But he also knows his own silver tongue, and if he could talk his way out of his own death, Napoleon Solo could talk his way out of this.

“You could, you know.”

Or, what happened between Illya trashing his hotel room and the two of them chilling on the balcony.

Summary

Ten minutes to go to ground zero and Artyom was still desperately trying to escape. “I have never attended little girl’s birthday party,” he pointed out repeatedly, and actually pouted, big blue eyes wide and pleading.

“Always a first time,” Napoleon said mercilessly, pulling on a charcoal Tom Ford blazer over his loose gray knit. “Mrs Siegfried invited us weeks ago, Artyom, don’t be a baby. You’ve had quite a while to gird your loins. We’re going to a party, not some sort of trench warfare. Smile.”

Artyom scowled, which was admittedly normally an adorable look even for a tall, blonde Russian giant of a man. “I do not like Mrs Siegfried,” Artyom declared, clearly intent on being as recalcitrant as possible.